Hide and Seek
by KateRobin
Summary: Sometimes running away seems the only logical thing to do when your heart is broken. After the 5-year-mission Christine Chapel chooses her own way of dealing with her feelings for Enterprise's first officer. INCOMPLETE.


_Hello my dear readers, I just want to let you know that I'm currently revising the story, because I've been having a writer's block lately and I thought changing some things would help me to get on with it. I've temporarily removed Chapter 6 because it was the one that started the trouble - I'm revising it right now. _

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**Chapter 1: To Forget **

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**Disclaimer:** _Star Trek_ is the property of Paramount Corporation. This is a work of not-for-profit fan fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Christine sits at her desk very late, much later than she is accustomed to, long after the heavy, misty dusk has fallen upon the station and the twinkling gems of stars began to enlighten the landscape. There is no moon – all this planet has are artificial satellites. How unromantic, she would have thought some years ago. Now she doesn't care, she reminds herself. She doesn't care about much, except her books, her research, her music maybe. Immersing herself in things that matter.

However, she slowly begins to feel the disadvantages of an isolated, lonesome life on a newly-discovered planet like Delta V. But isn't that the very reason she had wanted to settle here? Had it been not for the purpose of escaping - running away - that she had come here and accepted the position of a doctor in the new settlement? No other scientist – no _sensible_ scientist, she corrects herself – would have chosen that path after a brilliant career like her own. She could have picked any other place, any other position. There were enough people to support her, to give references, to push the necessary buttons and pull the strings. Her CV alone would have been impressive enough to get her anywhere within the Alpha quadrant; yet she had found a place that had seemed to her the very end of the world, where she would be undisturbed, where no one would find her and reopen old wounds.

Now, just after seven months of her new life here she questions her motives, criticizes her own stubbornness, finds fault with the _logic_ of her decisions – oh that wicked, _wicked_ word.

The research she had planned to conduct seems to be going nowhere; without motivation not even the best material and instruments can be of any help. The settlers – farmers and hand-workers mostly – don't require much medical care, so the majority of her supplies has remained untouched since her arrival. With nothing else to distract her, she finds herself remembering the events of the past years increasingly often. The five years on the Enterprise always stand out like a huge glowing mark in her memory, a highlight so intense it surpasses anything else, even her most beautiful childhood memories. She curses herself, curses her inability to move on, to let go of the past, like she should. Above all because that was the very purpose of her coming here: to leave it all behind, leave everything and everyone behind her. Especially _him_.

She knows she has to do it, or else it will drive her mad. Or maybe she is mad already. After all, what a woman in her sane mind could be hopelessly in love with a man – a Vulcan, for that instance - for more than five years? She knows the answer. She curses herself again.

She looks at the chrono and notices how late it is. Her papers on the desk before her are as blank as they had been hours ago. She must have spent all the evening in that pensive state. She doesn't even remember the sunset. Not that she cares for that sentimental stuff anyway, she reminds herself.

She quickly pulls on her nightgown and slips into the tiny bed, more like a raw wooden frame than an accommodation. Everything is tiny here, it always is in settlements on new planets, for lack of material. Seven months should have been long enough to adjust to these circumstances. Still, she is restless, uneasy. She almost feels the walls pushing together around her, leaving her no way to escape, taking the air away. She gasps, opens her eyes, finds the darkness around her even more discomforting and closes her eyelids again.

Thoughts begin to crawl into her mind, troublesome thoughts, painful thoughts, the very thoughts she sought to leave behind. Thoughts about him. Him and herself. _Them_. If there even had been something like _them_. No, there had not, she tells herself. Otherwise, she would never have let go. She would have held on to him forever. Not that she doesn't do it even now. She holds on, like a little child to its favorite toy, even if it's all broken, torn and ripped to shreds. And so is her heart.

It's the landscape that makes her so terribly sentimental, she decides. She won't let herself get that distracted again. She has to work and she will work. To push everything else away. To forget. **To forget.**

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**Chapter 2: Chapter 2: A Message**

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_It's frighteningly dark and cold. Christine is unsure where she finds herself. The uncertainty and fear must dim her senses, she thinks. She reaches out and the gloom seems to throb, to move under her touch, like a living thing. Slowly, carefully she makes a step forward, another. The darkness moves away from her, hesitantly at first, almost shyly. Then, suddenly it begins to push away, dissolves like April snow under bright sunshine and she is left alone in some sort of cavity. _

_With an involuntary gasp she realizes that she is not alone at all. Somehow **he** is in there with her, standing on the other end of the large grotto, staring at her intensely. It can't be real, she tells herself. I'm dozens of light years away from where he is right now, it can't possibly be real. _

_But within seconds he is at her side and she feels him touch the edgy curve of her chin, brushing the sensitive skin of her cheeks and neck, tracing the outlines of her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her lips. She shivers from the sensation, gazes at him in disbelief. His eyes appear to glow in the soft, dusky light of the cavern and for a brief moment she marvels at their color, their sepia depth with tinges of chocolate and cinnamon. She even wonders if that's what he tastes like, and just a second later she knows as his lips find hers. It's nothing short of amazing, blissfully sweet. It's what she had always desired. Again, she tries to convince herself that none of this could be real, and again she fails. Even as she struggles with the lack of air she can't bring herself to pull away. _

_He is the one to break the spell. Taking a few steps back, he suddenly seems crushed and in an instant she sees why. A woman appears behind his back, golden hair curling down to her shoulders, eyes the color of summer sky piercing her with contempt, anger even. She puts her hand protectively on his shoulder and leads him away, deeper and deeper into the grotto until both vanish in the shadows. _

_Christine panics, trembles, ready to burst into tears, then checks herself. It can't be real, she tells herself again and again. But why do her cheeks burn from passion, why does her blood boil with rage and desire? Why does his touch still linger on her lips? Why, why does it hurt? _

She knows it. She knows why. But she can't face it. She is ashamed of it. Of her weakness. And it's not until she opens her eyes to the first rays of the Deltan sun that she can shake the thoughts of it out of her mind.

It has been like that every night since her arrival. Every single night, the same dream. The place varies sometimes, as well as the time, but there is always her, him and the blonde woman whose face she can never remember when she wakes up. No matter what technique she tries, how she attempts not to sleep, not to encounter him again - he keeps coming back.

She has studied psychology; it was, after all, a significant part of her medical training. She doesn't need counseling to know what happens to her mind, what still continues to bother her. _She's the perfect example of a lovesick teenage girl with exceptional tendency to jealousy._ The only thing she can't figure out is how to stop it. This is why she has begun to experiment with meditation and oils from local plants. Relaxation, it seems, gives her more stamina, takes away the need to sleep. It doesn't render her completely resistant to tiredness, but she has reduced her nights to 4-5 hours so far.

It would make a splendid topic for her research, she thinks from time to time. But then, it is extremely unhealthy. She of all people should know that, with all her medical experience. No, it will not do. She focuses on other local herbs and fruit instead – most of them very common plants, but she has also found some rather fascinating species. Too bad that her motivation has left for parts unknown long ago.

She walks languidly into the kitchen, fixes some breakfast and eats on the porch outside. The sun rays keep changing color, from burgundy to burnt orange to a golden haze that floods the fields and the scattered trees with light. The imagery mesmerizes her so much that she finds herself quoting some lines from her Ancient literature course: _"A thing of beauty_ _is a joy for ever: its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness." _Keats, isn't it? She repeats the verses like a chant of some sort. What a shame no one reads poetry anymore, she thinks.

She leaves the porch and dresses for work, quickly pulling her dark brown hair into a messy ponytail. No one cares about how I look, she sighs. Least of all herself. Now there's no one to impress with her oh-so-stunning looks, elaborate hairstyles and perfect makeup. Now she's truly herself, the way she should have always stayed.

On her way out she briefly switches on the computer and checks for messages – an old _Enterprise_ habit she can't get rid of. The receiver blinks, very unexpectedly. No one has contacted her ever since she was stationed here. She can't even think of anyone who would want to stay in touch: Uhura and Rand, her closest friends, know she doesn't want to be disturbed; the other members of the _Enterprise_ crew have never shown any concern for her, not even her boss McCoy or the Captain who were always way too busy exploring new planets and solar systems. As for her family... there's no one left except for her Uncle Dave who never was much of a caring relative.

Her eyes widen in surprise when she opens the message. It's from _Spock_.

_Miss Chapel,_

_I hereby wish to inform you of my intention to visit Delta V as part of my current Starfleet assignment in matters of diplomacy. I estimate my arrival in 1.7 days. _

_Your support and supervision during my stay would be very welcome._

_Live long and prosper,_

_Ambassador Spock_

Christine is frozen for several moments. Only when she hears a frantic, maddeningly fast throbbing sound in her ears, she can pull her gaze from the screen. It's her heartbeat.

Please, please, please, she begs, let it be some sort of joke. But there's the official Starfleet signature. He is coming. There, to her.

She feels her little, tiny own world she had spent months on building collapse all around her like a card house in a storm. It had been unstable, shaky, but somehow she felt safe in it. She will need time to sort it out. She doesn't have time. But she can make some. After all, there is no one to forbid it. She calls the main station and takes the day off. They don't seem to mind.

Now's the time to meditate.

Her concentration fails her, for the very first time. She can't push it out so easily.

_**Oh hell, how on earth is she supposed to handle all that?**_

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**Chapter 3: Chapter 3: Running Up That Hill**

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_Author's note: I've been asked about the time frame in which the story takes place – it's supposed to be set sometime after the first 5-year-mission, but I've taken the liberty of omitting the storylines of Star Trek: TMP and the other movies that follow. I mean absolutely no disrespect towards the canon, I just felt like experimenting by placing Christine and Spock in a totally new environment and exploring their relationship there._

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Christine stops to catch her breath just a few meters from the top of the mound she is climbing. It's the first time she goes that far away from the settlement; she has never seen this part of the planet before. The hours of jogging through the wilderness - something she came up with after her meditation plans came tumbling down like little Dorothy's house in the tornado - seem to have liberated her from all the nervous energy of the morning.

The music streaming from her portable player slowly subsides. She really should listen to those Satie pieces more often, she thinks. His compositions appear so exquisitely livid and atmospheric, perfect for ramblings like this. Or when you have a lot of thinking to do.

In two steps she is at the top of the hill, a breathtaking view at the bright green infinity of fields before her. The grass seems to be moving of its own accord, emerald waves crashing onto the mossy shore of the mound several feet below. It reminds her of home, of the endless Georgia beaches she used to love as a child. Beautiful, she sighs, before she can chastise herself. She really needs to concentrate now. Sentimentality isn't really going to help there.

What has she figured out so far? First, the facts and necessities. He will be there tomorrow evening, that much she is sure of. She will have to pick him up from the main station, show him around.

Where will he stay? She ponders for a moment, frowning slightly. All the official quarters are occupied, there is not even a small room to put him in – she checked the medical facilities there last week so she knows for certain. Some of the farmers could surely accommodate him, but it would be absolutely inappropriate for someone of his rank. Their tiny houses are already overcrowded, and the new buildings in the outlying part of the settlement will not be habitable for another month.

She was incredibly lucky to get an own house instead of the standard quarters in the main station. Her CV might have helped her there after all, she grins. She has her privacy, solitude and even some sort of independence, she thinks. Not everyone has two rooms and a lounge like hers, as small as they are.

_Two rooms._ Suddenly, she realizes what that means in the current situation and her head begins to spin again. Putting up with _him_ 24/7... what a nightmare. What a sick, insane, horrifying nightmare! She almost screams at the thought, then thinks the better of it and turns around to run back, deciding to think about the other detail on the way.

How long will he stay? He didn't mention it in the message, but from experience she can tell that diplomatic missions rarely exceed a week's time. Seven days then – unless... unless he's up to something. Unless it has to do with her.

Oh, stop being silly again, she reminds herself. What could he possibly want from her? He's had his chance, his five-years-long chance, and he chose not to take it. He blew it. And now he also – most fittingly, she should add – blew _her_ chance to get away from those five years. But she mustn't let him know, give him that advantage again. She will be professional about everything, she will keep her distance, which could prove to be rather difficult in the circumstances, but not impossible.

What else, what else, what else? His diplomatic mission – what could that be? Diplomacy was never her forte, so she can't even begin to guess. Might have something to do with the integration of the local administration into the Federation representative system, but she's not sure. Hopefully he won't actually ask for her _"support and supervision"_ there.

She is home at about lunchtime, exhausted from the run but somehow refreshed and awake. After a quick meal she decides to do a little cleanup, though she doesn't really know how she got the idea. It's not like she wants to impress anyone, or make her house somewhat more comfortable. Still, she dusts off all the shelves and sweeps the floors in the old-fashioned way, and even rearranges some of her books and holos on the walls.

Halfway through the work she stops and - with an effort - shakes the strange urge off. It must be her nerves, she thinks. She should try to meditate again. Or better yet, she should turn on the music. She tells the computer to play _Gnossienne Nr. 1._ A smile lights up her face when the familiar chords begin to flow through the room, enveloping her in their sphere of peace and harmony. And it helps her relax, too.

When the piece is over she suddenly has a seemingly weird idea. She rushes to her computer and looks through the Starfleet databases. Although she no longer has the special access like the one she was entitled to on the _Enterprise_, there is still a lot of information she can find. She types in a search for recent diplomatic issues. There are none registered for Delta V at that moment; the last Federation mission took place just shortly before her own arrival. She checks for Spock's file: he is not listed as on active duty either. She double-checks everything, not believing what she sees. Yet it all seems to be official.

She lowers her head onto the desk in what can be perceived as a desperate gesture. It _is _one by all means. What the hell is that all about? Why this deception? What does he want? Why here? Why oh why is he coming? There are too many questions for her buzzing head, but she doesn't let them overwhelm her completely. She will find everything out in her own perfect time.

There is only one way to do it – tomorrow evening at the main station. She will be even more punctual than usual, she orders herself.

She will let the rest surprise her.

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**Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Everybody's Changing**

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Christine doesn't remember ever being so overly punctual in her whole life. There is more than half an hour left until the scheduled arrival of the shuttle and she has nothing to do but linger in the waiting hall, pacing forwards and backwards, measuring the space illuminated by the late afternoon sun.

Her new, almost never worn Starfleet uniform feels too tight and uncomfortable, as does her hair in the perfectly fixed knot – something she hasn't worn for ages. She wonders whether all of this would feel differently – better, somehow – under any other circumstances. It probably would. She pulls at her top, trying to straighten it into being perfect. It _has_ to be perfect. Everything has to.

She doesn't even know why she went through all that trouble with her looks. What does she want to achieve, anyway? To stick to all the regulations, like he probably expects her to? Not to embarrass herself in front of him, like so many times before? To _impress_ him? Maybe it's all of these things, she guesses. But she doesn't want to think about her feelings right now. Save that stuff for later, when she is safe.

Then the shuttle appears, looking like a shooting star against the darkening sky. It approaches with incredible speed, growing into a bold, glowing sphere and finally setting down in the hangar with a soft hum. The passengers exit, one after another, most of them settlers, leading a small group of newcomers.

He isn't there. Time after time she gazes into the faces of the people climbing out of the spacecraft, looking for the familiar features, the dark hair, the arrow-like eyebrows, the pointy ear tips, and time after time she is disappointed.

A tiny hope flares up inside her. Maybe the mission was canceled! Maybe something came up to prevent his coming! Maybe he didn't want to come in first place, the message being a joke. Maybe...

She doesn't get to finish her last thought as a tall, dark figure in robes emerges from the shuttle. She is stunned for a second, from surprise – or is it anticipation? - but quickly recovers from her stupor, stepping towards him. He is as elegant as always, not just his clothes but the way he moves, the gracious, languorous stride of a panther. His robes make him look like an aristocrat of some sort, she thinks, and involuntarily compares them to his usual Starfleet uniform which would appear just shabby and ridiculous next to this mass of silky folds. Stop this! she orders herself.

She forces her face into a composed, virtually expressionless mask as he walks towards her. Concentrate, just concentrate... and breathe.

He is the first to speak. "Doctor Chapel." He must have looked through her file, she notes. There are only few people who know that she completed her medical degree. Interesting.

"Captain Spock. Welcome," - she nods in reply and for the first time allows herself to look up at him and meet his eyes. Very unexpectedly, they appear to glow, nearly the way the do in her dreams. The spark in them seems so genuine and strong that she almost forgets her self-control.

She checks herself – just in time for the next blow: he extends his hand toward her. He's never done that before. Never. However friendly or close they might have been on the _Enterprise_, there was always a barrier between them, a fine line neither dared to cross. Additionally, he seemed to hate every single situation where he was supposed to touch other people – not just specifically her, but people in general. And now... Well, she must do something, so she slowly, gingerly puts her palm into his and shakes it lightly. It's warm to her touch, hot even and suddenly she can't help wondering what a strange race Vulcans are: so cold and unemotional on the outside, forcing themselves into perfect lack of emotions, yet so hot, almost passionate on the inside, in their biology, deep down to their bones.

Feeling somewhat guilty at the thought she withdraws her hand, but not without an effort. His grip is strong, as if he doesn't want to let her go. She feels herself blush and looks down at her feet. Stop! she tells herself again.

There is an awkward pause. She struggles to find words, the right words... no, any words would do right now, she thinks. She's just as tongue-tied around him as ever. Just _wonderful_ how some things never change. Her head is buzzing, her throat thickening, and she prays that he doesn't notice.

Finally the Starfleet discipline gets hold of her again. "Sir, I suppose you would like to be shown to your quarters. You must be... tired after the journey." Her voice doesn't break. Good.

He looks rather amused, something she's never experienced before either. "On the contrary, Miss Chapel. But I believe it would be convenient as it appears to be late." She throws a quick look out the window. The sun is setting already. "Right. Follow me, sir."

She leads the way out of the building, towards the parking lot. Her beautiful silver Mercedes convertible, an antique relic that had belonged to her father, sparkles in the fading sunshine. Spock puts his black leather suitcase into the car trunk; she hadn't noticed it during her emotional fit before. Then he joins her, occupying the seat next to her.

The ride home is very quiet. She can't bring herself to talk, there is way too much bothering her at the moment. His mission, his strange behavior, and then the problem with the lodgings... She lets out a tiny, almost non-existent sigh of frustration. Spock seems to notice and turns his gaze from the Deltan landscape to her. His silhouette against the sunset is decidedly fascinating, she thinks.

"Is everything all right, Miss Chapel?" There is worry, real worry in his voice. "Of course, yes, " she mumbles. Then, suddenly she decides to tell him. "Actually... there is, um, a problem of some sort."

He raises an eyebrow. "Nothing serious, I hope." She takes a deep breath. "Well, no, not really. You see, there are no quarters available at the main station. Same goes for the settlement. So I thought..." She trails off, feeling terribly uncomfortable about everything. "I thought... that you would not object to sharing my lodgings. There really is no other solution."

Strangely, he doesn't appear in the least surprised or displeased at the notion. "I understand. And I certainly do not object. I only hope to cause you no discomfort or trouble."

She feels herself blush again. "No... I mean, not at all." There is silence again.

Finally, they arrive at her home, in a remote meadow at some distance from the settlement. She goes straight inside, somewhat spontaneously deciding to play the good hostess. Spock follows her in a minute, after having observed the surroundings.

She shows him the guest room, a small but comfortable one, decorated in warm shades of orange and red. He looks quite pleased with it and she can't help smiling at that inwardly. Then she leaves him to settle in and goes to prepare dinner.

They eat in silence. He doesn't seem to be in the mood for small talk. As a matter of fact, she can't remember him ever being into small talk. It's probably for the best, she thinks. She's still awestruck, and in absolutely no condition for a conversation. She can't even hold his gaze anymore, not even for a second, so she keeps staring at her plate. She must look incredibly stupid, she ponders.

Thankfully, he excuses himself after the meal and goes to his room. She does the same after having cleaned up. Her room feels unusually cold tonight. She get herself an extra blanket.

So... where is all this going? She is obviously not over him. Far from it. Just the feel of her shaking knees and fluttering heart speak volumes about that. Conclusion: seven months wasted on nothing.

He is obviously changed. Somehow, he doesn't seem to control his emotions quite as strictly as in his Enterprise times. She has to confess that she likes that, but it's so unusual. Weird even. Although it has a genuine feel. She wonders why he is like that now. And why he is here.

And the robes, yes, the robes... are they a confirmation of her suspicions that he's not on an official mission? Or did he just choose comfortable clothing because of the long journey?

She hasn't asked him a single question about anything, she recalls. Well, there will be time for that tomorrow. And she will have to overcome that awful teenage-like demeanor. Then she'll work it out.

She hopes so.

* * *

**Chapter 5: Chapter 5: Breathe Me**

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_Christine opens her eyes to the familiar setting. Everything is just as it was last night, and the night before, and all the nights back to her displacement. _

_When the strange darkness is gone she can make his silhouette out against the walls of the cave. Unusually, he has a somewhat different appearance and as he steps closer, she sees why: he is wearing his robes. She likes the way the silky folds cling to his tall, elegant frame. He looks positively seductive tonight, she thinks. _

_She raises her gaze and is frozen for a moment. Instead of the soft, tender glow, his eyes shine brightly, pierce her, burn with a luminous passion she's never encountered in him before. Neither has he touched her and kissed her and encircled her in his arms the way he does now. She breathes heavily when he withdraws from her, hungry for more._

_Then the lean, blonde figure emerges from the shadows again. Her hand is on his shoulder and he almost turns to go, but looks at Christine once more, an unspoken plea in his expression, his lips forming words she can't understand. She reaches out and grasps his hand and pulls him back into her arms, only to have the woman tear him out of her embrace with force. She is not strong enough to hold him. _

_Before the two vanish in the blackness of the cavity she lets out a desperate, helpless cry, as if she is dying and struggling for the last breath of air, as if he is the only one who could save her from certain death. Her head begins to spin and black spots dance joyfully, threateningly in front of her eyes, and then she screams in panic and frenzy..._

Icy water drops on her forehead and shocks her into awareness. A buzzing, screechy noise reaches her ears and she realizes she is still screaming. She stops abruptly and gasps for air, relieved at the cooling feeling in her chest. Then she blinks, her eyes adjusting to the semidarkness in the room.

A face appears over her and she tries to focus, with difficulty. It is _him_. He must have touched her front with water and now strokes her hair with a calming, soothing motion. He looks stern, concerned and just for a second she deludes herself with the thought that he could be genuinely worried about her.

"How are you feeling, Miss Chapel?"- he asks, his voice as soothing as his hands.

"I... I believe I had a nightmare. I was... suffocating." She shivers.

He nods. "I was suspecting as much when I heard the noise from your room. Fortunately, you do not seem physically harmed by the experience".

Somehow she feels guilty, not only because she woke him. "I'm so sorry, sir." She blushes.

He shakes his head, a fleeting, almost invisible gesture. "There is no need to apologize, Miss Chapel. You have not deprived me of sleep. I do not require much rest."

She suddenly grows incredibly self-conscious, taking in all of the aspects of the situation. He sits at the edge of her bed, apparently wearing nothing more than a dressing gown, one of his hands resting on top of her head, the other cupping her cheek. She imagines how she must appear, with her hair all over the pillow, her face weary from not getting enough sleep, circles under her eyes.

On an impulse she brings up her hand to cover his and it amazes her how much heat the touch appears to generate. His gaze softens just a little, but then he carefully takes his hand away from her face and sighs. He gets up, smooths the folds of his gown and looks down, all of a sudden avoiding her eyes. "I believe I should leave you to rest now, Miss Chapel." He sighs again.

When he turns to walk out, she pushes herself up on her elbows and follows him with her gaze.

"Why have you come here?" The question escapes her lips before she can think. He looks back at her, a slight frown on his face. "As I said before, Miss Chapel, I heard the noise and came to see if you were alright." He sounds almost annoyed.

Her expression turns harsh, a steely touch to her eyes. She feels the cold sensation inside, too. "That's not what I meant, Mr. Spock." He seem apprehensive for a tiny moment, but then checks himself. "I do not understand."

She grows angry. What's this game? "Oh, you do. Why have you come to Delta V, Mr. Spock? I know that it's not a diplomatic mission that brings you here. You're not listed as on active duty." His eyes widen in surprise. He has clearly not expected _this_. He remains quiet, however.

She pulls back the covers and jumps up, her head dizzy and spinning from the sudden motion. Ignoring her body's reaction, she steps towards him, as if to confront him, trying to put some grace of authority into her movements. But her legs begin to tremble and she is almost prepared to hit the floor when his hands grip her upper arms, steadying her.

Abruptly, the self-consciousness comes back. She realizes she is standing very close to him, almost feeling his warm breath on her face. Her nightgown seems too short, too uncomfortable and so does everything else. It's wrong. It's what she had always wanted, but it's wrong. And it's distracting her.

"You are clearly not in the condition for any more activities now, Miss Chapel. I suggest we discuss everything concerning the circumstances and purpose of my journey tomorrow. You should rest _now_." His eyes have turned serious again and it's extremely hard for her to disobey his instructions. But she doesn't want to be told to do anything. Even by him. _Especially _by him. The warmth is gone now and all she wants is to run away. From him. From his lies. Run, again and again until she is safe.

"Let me go!" His hold on her arms is firm, but she shakes it off, pushing herself away from him. She takes two steps back and on the third her foot stumbles over something. Still giddy, she ultimately loses her balance and falls back, clumsily wheeling her arms in the air - all in vain, of course. He stands too far to catch her this time. The back of her head hits something hard and sharp and there is overwhelming pain that for a second seems to replace everything else in the universe. Then, empty blackness devoid of light, sound and anything else takes its place.

The last thing she remembers before this are the pounding, heavy thuds in her ears and the salty taste of blood on her lips.

_**How embarrassing.**_


End file.
